


Heaven and Hell

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: BDSM, F/M, M/M, Moresomes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, R/NC-17 - Red Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-06
Updated: 2008-04-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:45:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: In a Hell of his own making, Sam takes what help he can get.





	1. Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Two matching ficlets. I've no idea where these came from, but they arrived together.

Sam knows, in some small, still rational, part of his mind, that this is suicidal. Each comment and action is designed to push Hunt, the Guv, _Gene_ a little bit closer to breaking point.

 

 

Sam knows this and he can't stop it. Easier that he try to stem the tide with a chair and a crown than stop himself from this course of action.

 

 

And then, after days of this escalation of oral violence, Gene snaps and the verbal sparring becomes physical. Sam relishes in that moment, even to deliberately being a little clumsy, deliberately over-reaching slightly so that Gene gets in more punches than perhaps he might. But the smack of flesh meeting flesh, the crack of tortured bone, galvanises Sam into dodging harder and Gene into not pulling his punches.

 

 

This time, Gene has followed Sam back to the flat and it is only then, after several tumblerfuls of whisky, that Sam gets what he wants. Slammed against the wall, Gene's hand wrapped round his throat, Sam can barely breathe, let alone speak. Gene's face is close, so close that the features are blurred. They're sharing the same air for a moment. Sam breathes in the whisky and tobacco smell, the hint of danger that is pure Gene. Gene's breathing is fast, laboured, Sam's almost non-existent as they share a look that sits somewhere between lust and hate.

 

 

"Is this what you want, Tyler? Is it?"

 

 

Sam, unable to reply, still forms the word with his lips. _No._

 

 

Gene lets go abruptly and Sam staggers. Drawing in huge breaths to soothe his burning lungs, he bends slightly at the waist, not paying attention to the other man. Which is a mistake. Gene lands a heavy blow on Sam's kidneys and, with a cry, Sam hits the floor hard. 

 

 

Gene lands on top of him, heavy, anchoring Sam on to the threadbare carpet. He twists Sam's right arm up behind his back, leaning in and bringing his face down to Sam's. 

 

 

"Is this what you want? Tell me."

 

 

Sam refuses to answer with a shake of his head and Gene twists a little further. It's a waiting game now, and Gene can wait. He pulls his head down close to Sam's, watching his expression, waiting for that moment when Sam gives in.

 

 

Finally, with a whispered 'yes', Sam capitulates.

 

 

Gene immediately releases him and stands. Knowing his DI will not move, he immediately goes hunting in the kitchen for oil so that he can fuck Sam into oblivion.

 

 

With that one word, Sam gets what he wants. But with that one word he no longer gets what he needs.


	2. Heaven

Annie stares down at the broad, pale back, blemished by the thin white lines that tell of this ritual played out times before. His nakedness is only enhanced by the broad leather cuffs around his wrists and ankles; his ankles spread and fixed to the bottom of his bed; his hands behind his head, wrists attached to the leather collar around his neck.

 

 

He can get free, if he wanted to, if he needed to, both of them know this. It’s the symbolism of the bonds that matters. The ties that bind are never merely physical.

 

 

She flicks the end of the whip through the air, testing it, testing herself, before bringing down hard across his back, the red line appearing instantly. Annie immediately quashes down that little touch of guilt, she will do penance for every single mark, on her knees with ointment and bandage, before this night is out. The crack sounds loud in the small, dimly lit room. Again and again she brings it whistling through the air, getting into a loose rhythm, marking him from neck to knees.

 

 

Annie is silent, but Sam cries out in pain, in denial. He begs and pleads her to stop this punishment.

 

 

She does not stop.

 

 

His head is turned towards her and she meets his stare without expression as she rhythmically wields the whip, red lines blossoming down his back, across his arse, round his thighs. She holds his gaze, watching closely to their silent conversation as it drowns out his articulated pleas.

 

 

And even when his voice become softer, the words tumbling over themselves in an effort to be set free, she does not let up her rhythm. The swish and flick and crack of the whip serving only to punctuate the litany as the ruby red welts punctuate the cool, pale skin.

 

 

She's seen the madness behind those eyes. The guilt and fear disguised in the thrill of the chase, but threatening to spill over into defeat, into self-loathing and sheer insanity. A step that would surely get him killed one day. A step that would surely get them all killed.

 

 

So she stares into those eyes every day, watching and waiting for those thoughts to bud and grow. Then, and only then does she take his hand. Takes control, binds and releases him. Takes that guilt and pain and cauterises it with the whip.

 

 

And when it has all been washed away by the suffering and the blood; only then does she take her reward. Turning him over and riding him well into the night. Giving him something else to dream about.

 

 

She doesn't quite know what he wants; but she knows what he needs.


End file.
